Maeve wrapped the gauze around her sleeveless arm, squeezing it tight to cover her elbow from any needless future road-burns or scratches. Acting as a temporary sleeve, Maeve settled on a crate, zoning out the Marauders' chatter as they grobbled about, nonchalant and delighted in each others' company. The potent stench that swelled the sewer never seemed to affect their contemptment and their little community of outsiders. Maeve grinned; their peace came from her plights, and this thought exalted her immensely as she continued to zone out, admiring her efforts as they worked.

"Hey, uh, kiddo," a aproned-man respectfully barged near the crate, eying it. "Can you get up real quick? I need to pick up that crate."

She tilted her head, her eyebrows narrowed only slightly as her lips sealed. She slowly rose, letting the man hoist the crate to his destination.

No one seemed to care. As the man hobbled back to his post his attention gave no heed to the credit, the security, and the effort Maeve put in to secure the Marauders' future. Granted, everyone was busy, but the man couldn't take one step to briefly thank the rogue for her perilous work? Still squinting, her eyes brought their attention to Clint, calling for her in the square.

"Maeve!" He remarked blissfully but slightly urgent, holding an old shoe box in his hand. "Here, open this."

Resisting her bewilderment to the slight urgency in his voice, she smiled and accepted the shoebox as it was handed to her while Clint caught his breath after running around everywhere to find her.

"Maraya got you some nice pants, so I had to do something to one-up her." Clint casually added as Maeve gestured gratitude by staring with tremendous glee at the curved, faux-leather fingerless gloves, all with the exception of her index finger, for which the fleece interior gently wrapped around it, leaving the tip exposed. The dark lavender complimented her coat astonishingly. Looking up to show more affection towards his gesture, she caught him scratching his head, seemingly trying to ease his nerves. "They aren't just for fashion, I'm afraid," Clint continued, wiping his brow as he grew into his brash and bold leader self. "Follow me. Somo and Maraya are going to talk more into it - hopefully get some more ideas... We're meeting by the flood shelter."

. . .

The aproned man dropped the crate next to the plumber, bashfully but diligently working on one of the many flood control valves inside the den of the Marauders, the clicks of her constantly moving ratchet making their awkward silence more tolerable as she ignored the crate beside her.

"Here," he grunted, grasping his hands together to weather his brand new calluses. "The inch nuts you asked for."

"Inch nuts?" The plumber responded, still giving most of her attention to the tightening ratchet, her rubber-gloved hands covered in green primer fluid from sealing shut several of the many sewage pipes since she woke up this morning. "I asked for bolts. We need the nuts afterwards."

"Tanya, I don't know how this stuff works," he crossed his arms, scoffing at her nonchalant, ill-caring and dismissive expression. "What do you want me to do other than carry these heavy crates to and from the hideout over and over again?"

The plumber rose to face the man, agitated and soaked in sweat and grime. "First of all," Ratchet in hand, she tapped his shoulder with it, standing a solid foot shorter than him. "I need you to learn how to read." She slyly pointed with the ratchet at the crate's bold "QUARTER INCH BOLTS" label and grinned. "Then you can learn to keep the Marauders from becoming gator food, like I did when I was fourteen."

Distinctly, the distant sound of screws turning akin to turning on an old kitchen sink alerted the literate plumber, intrigue spilling into her confused and now suddenly troubled mind. "Wait," she put her hand up, halting the inevitable playful response from her apprentice. "They were supposed to do it six months from now!" Thundering sounds of flowing water distantly waved through the closed enormous vault-sized flood gates she stood nearly hugging against it.

"RUN!" The plumber yelled, alerting all of the den until the thunderous crash of water hitting the metal barn-sized flood gates struck her to the ground with the sound alone creating a miniature quake into the floor. Recovering, she knew her time was short as she sprinted in the other direction away from the slowly busting bolts, taking the form of bullets through the immense pressure on the other end, hitting unfortunate, unaware Marauders, crippling them as it lodged in less-than-ideal spots. Their yelps in pain were soon greatly overshadowed by the obnoxiously loud bending steel floodgate, the rithe creating a dark and deep squeal from the extremely durable metal, impossibly buying time for the Marauders to futility run from their imminent demise in the depths of the sewer.

. . .

The little thief could not find the expression in the news. All the constant planning, sacrifices, the… prisoner the information came from… shattered into a million pieces, their use in vain.

"Maeve," Clint did not like that expression, for he had seen it before. "It's not over yet, we know who the crystals belong to."

"Just get to the point, Clint!" Maraya yelled furiously, her eyes wide with impatience. "You can't sugarcoat everything for her! Tell her what we need to do or leave her back on the street where we found her!"

"That's enough!" Somo shouted uncharacteristically. He signed after Maraya silenced immediately, her respect immaculate. "Maeve, the only way to get rid of a soul-bound crystal is to kill the user. I'm sorry, Maeve, but… this is what we need help with. You…" He stopped there, Somo needed to choose his words carefully. Her knack for… silencing people… was undoubtedly, if not tragically skillful.

A lump appeared in Maeve's throat. These weren't her friends; all this time they were forging her into a-

"RUN!" A distant voice warned, leaving the troubled four in the back of the room startled as they all heard the booming slam of water on the massive but distinct floodgate and the furious pews of the bolts slowly detaching, flinging in random directions.

"The water…" Clint's voice sunk in disbelief, joining the other three in their fearful realization. "It can't be… no way…"

"MOVE!" Somo boomed, and the rest of them snapped into action, away from their bewilderment. "To the flood shelter!"

Thankfully, the four were near the flood shelter, but time time was far too short, and as the bending metal's pitch increased, with a blast so enormous the entire Trade District could lightly hear it beneath their feet, the floodgates fiercely complied to nature's wrath, releasing murky sewage water into the beloved hideout of the Marauders in a flash of ferocious and deep waste, engulfing all those unfortunate to be near in a swift motion. Far from the blast, Clint, Maraya, Somo, and Maeve opened the hard steel reinforced door of the flood shelter, and as Maeve crawled in first she recalled the mess she had made in here before. Somo helped escort Clint and Maraya in as he felt the fierce galvanized bolt lodge in his back, cutting his breath as he exhaled in pain.

"Clint… Maraya…" He desperately pleaded, revealing the horrific wound on his back, gasping for air as he knelt beside the door, short by four feet. "You are the last of the Marauders…"

"Somo!" Clint called, begging for his icon's recovery as he gestured towards him, flood water barrelling behind him at breakneck speeds. "You can't! Come inside! Get inside!"

Somo used the last of his strength as he planted his body on the end of the door, sluggishly struggling to shut it. "Clint," he grunted, barely audible from the impending flood water behind him. "It's ok. Do what you need to do. I know you won't fail us, Clint. I know you won't…" As the door shut in front of Somo Maraya quickly moved to lock it, and instantly the flood water attacked the reinforced door, securing the three in the dark room - alone, afraid, and cluelessly traumatized. Maraya harshly fell to her knees and bawled hopelessly, feeling the concrete ground hit her knees on impact. Her cries echoed in the damp, dark shelter. Clint's face clinched, red, holding back tears. He had to remain calm. Wiping his face and exhaling, he steadied himself. He fought the uncontrollable urge to join Maraya in the room.

Maeve stood in the darkest corner of the room. To her, there was no darkest corner, apart from the corner to which the rotting corpse of Dekah the Resistance Merchant conveyed its stench. Soon the water level will descend, and from the shelter they can leave the sewers and possibly start anew, but the half-tigron girl never knew if she had the strength to follow them after what happened. The last thing she could call family either bawled restlessly or stood motionless in the dimly lit room beside her, mourning at their chance of change, their chance of renewal, peace - freedom.

Maraya groaned during her bawl, raised her tear-filled eyes and sniffled aggressively, "We're NEVER getting those crystals!" She tilted her head back down, face-planted on her legs and screamed, "NEVER!"

"Maraya, we need to-"

"Shut up, Clint!" Maraya interfered, losing her voice with her plea, pointing at him as she rose to her feet. "You think you know everything, you always think everything is going to work out! Where are we right now?" She raised her arms in the air, gesturing at the damp, depressing room, sharing it with a rotting corpse. A still silence invaded the shelter as Clint gazed at the floor; the only stimulus was the rushing waves of water outside the door, trapping them for a day, thrashing against the metal reinforcement.

"You…" Clint started, and Maeve's head in her spot could be seen behind Clint as Maraya stared, jolting up as if surprised by his response. "You're right." He admitted, kneeling to the floor and joining Maraya, continuing to stare at the ground in deep reconciliation.

"How safe do you feel right now?" Maraya fueled Clint's rising bonfire of thought. "With… her…"

Clint and Maraya looked at the glowing eyes, eerily gazing into their souls from the back of the room, entrancing them. "Like I said…" Maraya sniffed and wiped the last tear. "The only way to get a soul-bonded crystal…"

"Is to kill the user," Clint finished as he determinately rose to his feet along with Maraya; his commitment to his young, crystal-wielding apprentice disappeared. "You weren't the only one who said that."

Maeve's eyes widened as she saw Maraya ready her wrist-mounted crossbow, instantly pointing it at Maeve, almost firing before a flash of a pink tracer blinded Clint and illuminated the room for half a second, and Clint witnessed a pounced little girl, daggers in hand, leap and cover fifteen meters in an instant, impaling Maraya in the chest before she ever knew she was being attacked. As Clint only saw the blue eyes move about, staring at the floor as the tracer faded, his ears crippled his stoicism with the sound of a gutting knife exiting yet another bloodied corpse, and its thump to the floor as the eyes nonchalantly followed in heart-pounding silence.

"Ma-'' Clint whispered but he couldn't finish. The eyes immediately located Clint soon after, but Clint did not surrender.

. . .

Am I there? Where am I? Where is… Mom? What is this place? Why can't I see?

"It's dark in here. Let me get a light."

Whoah, thanks!

"No problem, my little kitten."

What is this place? I don't remember anything at all. I think I was in a dark room, some people… my… friends? I can't remember.

"Maeve, you have to go back."

Why? Why can't I stay here? Why can't I be with you forever?

"You have to be you. This is not you."

Wh-where am I? What is me? Who am I?!

"Wake up and find out…"

. . .

Clint weaved into the darkness, but now Maeve, for some odd reason, couldn't recognize him visually at all. After a remote, mechanical clicking noise, all visual traces of Clint had gone.

"I'm not falling to you, Maeve." Clint's voice seemingly disembodied, coming from around her in all directions, voiding her recognition. "I won't hesitate."

That advice permanently damaged Maeve, and she would never forget it. The amount of corpses equaled the living in the room, and she accidentally stepped in the small pool of Maraya's blood as she paced the room in an effort to find the cloaked target.

"I won't hesitate again," The disembodied voice of Clint grew in vigilance in an ameatur, human way. Maeve saw the rogue's gambit coming. Dodging a tackle from her right, Maeve retaliated the now revealed Clint, who reappeared with another clicking noise, blackjack in hand as he missed his crucial strike to the back of her head, consequently earning him a strong, shark-toothed stab in his chest, and another immediately following into his neck. As Clint toppled speechless and motionless to the floor, Maeve released the daggers violently out of his body in a trail of arcing blood as she swiped.

Water continued to rage outside of the shelter, the obituary of the three bodies on the ground as their reaper stood, her pink coat glowing; blood-stained purple particle-laced daggers sat comfortably with their silky cloth-wrapped grip nestled in her hands. The crystal illuminated the room, light reflecting off of her pink hair; her head sunk, staring at Clint's Magistrate-made stolen cloaking device, her expression blank for ten minutes as the blood slowly dripped off of the daggers, adding to the ever-growing pool below her shoes. Smells of rancid flesh failing to cause her to wince as she might have used to. She began to shake. Each limb in sync, Maeve's body shook for too long. In time, she paced to the back of the room before eventually collapsing onto the floor, dropping the daggers and closing her glowing blue eyes, struggling to view the night sky, struggling to see without the light.